Fish in hand, I begin wading towards the other side of the lake along the edge.

I can do this. This’ll work out fine. I’ll just step up to them, say ‘Hi, I’m Kitty! I look forward to working with you all!’ and then I’ll eat my fish, make a stupid joke, excuse myself, and spend the next seventeen hours hyperventilating. Sounds good! Perfect plan. There is no way this can go wrong.

The fish twitches in my hand. I try and fail to breathe. It. Will. Be. Great!

I’m on the other side now. The large group of people are a few paces away, most of them crowded around the fire or out swimming. A group of healers are healing a few wounded. There must be over fifteen people. I freeze in place. No one is looking over at me. No one has noticed me. That’s great! But… But that means they might not notice me when I’m closer, too.

A fresh new worst-case-scenario pops up unbidden in my head, where I walk up to them, talk, and no one notices that I’m there. Like I’m a ghost.

My hands start to tremble again, urging the fish in my hand to flap its fin.

Alright, alright, alright, alright—calm down! I can do this. I don’t have to be here for long. Just a little bit, to get to know them, and introduce myself. That’s all.

With shaking knees, I uproot my feet from the sand and continue walking.

I approach the group. My goal is the people sitting around the fire-pit. They won’t be able to run away.

“—And then we had to fight through a bunch of wolves…”

“It was crazy! I had no idea what my latest spell would do, but I still…”

“Like whoosh! Shabam! And then, we won! It was totally…”

I step into the circle. At first, only two of the nine or so around the fire notice me, staring at me as though I’m a monster that just spawned in front of their eyes. Then, a few others notice, two of them markedly jerking at my sudden intrusion. One of them goes so far as to mutter, “Oh shit what the heck—”

“Hello!” I say, raising my hand. My sweaty, sweaty hand. “I just thought I might—”

The live fish in my hand jolts to, slipping out of my hand and flailing up into the air. Purely by instinct, I snap my jaws at it, catching most of it in my mouth while the tip of the tail gets cleanly sheared off, dropping down into the fire, still twitching. Fish in mouth, I stare at the people around the fire. They all stare back, mouths agape.

I swallow the fish.

…Shit. Alright, time to scra—

“Whoa!” one of them says. “That was impressive! How did you do that?”

I stumble back. “Uh, I—I just…”

“Your hair is really long,” another one says. “When did you join the tutorial? Are you one of the OGs?”

My head shakes back and forth, all on its own. “Th—the what? I don’t—”

“Oh, wait, weren’t you the guy fishing with the God of Hunting? That was so slick! I still don’t know why you were naked, though. Where have you been since then?”

“Fishing,” I choke out, trying to move away from the fire. “Just—just fishing.”

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“Where? I couldn’t see you at all! And I have really good detection skills.”

I stagger backwards away from them.

Should I kill them? Should I kill them? Should I kill them? Should I kill them?

Should I kill myse—

I stumble on something and fall down into the water, soaking my pants and my shirt and… The water soaks cleanly through my shirt. Suddenly, half-translucent, it clings to my bony chest. To my brand.

Cold, tingling pain spreads from it.

“Haah, haah, haah, haah…”

“Hey, are you okay?” Someone’s shadow blots out the sun. A guy smiles down at me. “Everything alright? You look pretty—” His eyes fall on my chest. On my brand. On the king’s brand. The brand that marks me as the killer of Acheron. The mark of my deepest sin. He freezes in place.

Ah. This is it. This is as far as it goes. I have to—

“You too, huh?”

I blink at him. “...What?”

Smiling, he holds out his hand to me, as though to pull me up. But on the palm of his hand, there’s a mark. A brand. Shaped like a pair of coins with skulls on them. Completely different from mine. Not as deep, not as big, but nevertheless…

“Thievery,” he says lightly. “Heh, it’s a stupid story, really. I didn’t know the Imperial tongue too well, so while bartering with a goblin, I thought he said I could have a pot for free, so I walked off, but… Yeah, that wasn’t the case. Dumb, right? And I didn’t even get to keep the pot!”

“They branded you… for that?”

“Oh, yeah. Humans get branded for everything. Didn’t you read SuperMoleman’s guide on goblin punitive justice? I don’t remember who it was that spread it, but apparently, one of the goblin kings hated humans so much that he decided they needed to be permanently marked for crimes. Sucks, right? It spread pretty quickly, so now if you mess around without knowing the rules, you can get branded no matter what country you’re in.” He chuckles. “Still hurts like a bugger, though!”

Breathing heavily, I stare transfixed at his brand, and then his easygoing, relaxed face. Not taking his hand, I jangle up to my feet, biting my lip and burning with shame. “I’m sorry,” I croak out.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry!” I say again, rushing off and away from all of them, my breath burning in my throat and tears burning in my eyes.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Once I reach the other side of the lake again, I scramble to sit down at my little outcrop, pressing both hands against my brand, the familiar, searing pain greeting me like an old friend. After a few minutes, I stop hyperventilating—much better than my original 17-hour estimate.

Alright. Okay. That went… It was..

…It could have gone a lot worse!

Let’s look at the first positive outcome. No one died! Heck, no one even got hurt! That’s great!!

Peeling off my shirt, I begin wringing it out.

Of—of course, it could have gone a lot better, but… I mean, really… What did I expect? I’m me. It took me three years to learn the names of my middle school classmates, and by that point, we were already graduating! Isn’t that pathetic?

My legs are shaking again. Damn it, damn it, damn it…!

At least… I take a deep, calming breath.

At least, I won’t have to do that again. I might have to talk to them more, but… I tried, right? I tried, and it went… A bit so-so, but it did went!

So, there’s no need to dwell on it anymore. I tried my best. I did what I could. Now… I just have to wait for the next floor to begin.

ante-purgatory trials:

9:49:27>

…Only ten hours left! I can handle that. That’s nothing. I’ve spent more time in far more torturous environments. I can handle this, no sweat!

With trembling hands, I grab my fishing rod.

…No, I—I can’t. The thing with the fish… It spoiled me to fishing a bit.

I stick the fishing rod into my inventory. After a bit of consideration and two shakes of hesitation, I pull out my latest project.

A half-complete, dubiously shaped but yellow piece of stitched-together fabric appears in my hand. Let’s see, the nose was over here, and the tail over here… I turn it inside-out just to orient myself. The overall shape is complete, but it’s missing the little hands and feet, alongside the ears and button eyes. But that won’t take long. Soon enough, rat plush number twenty-eight—Leif—shall be complete!

…Not that he’s properly named yet, of course. Leif is just… A name that may or may not be attributed to rat number twenty-eight depending on future events and circumstances. Yep. That’s the case.

Since I’ve got my needle and the accompanying yellow thread already attached to the part I’ll be working on, I don’t need to grab anything else to start sewing. It’s very relaxing work, really. Sure, you need stable hands to move the needle properly, but a few pets of the soft fabric is enough to calm my nerves. Giving me ample time to thread the needle, in and out, over and under, tie it up here, make a knot there…

With my eyes focused on the thing in my hands, there’s no need to look at the other side of the lake. I can hear more people appearing every now and then, but that’s alright. I’ve already introduced myself to most of them, so it’ll be fine. There’s no need to fret over that sort of stuff. I can just sit here, sewing quietly, making another rat.

Everything is calm.

But even with my head downcast, eyes turned away from everything, I can still spot the presence approaching. Not Hunter. Not one of those I talked to. Someone new. My senses are all at their peak. I’m still sewing, but I’m deeply, deeply aware of every movement they make, every large, unhappy step they take through the forest, avoiding the water and the sand by instead trekking through the arguably more difficult grove aft.

I can’t tell if they’re coming for me. Did they spot me across the lake? Did they recognize the brand on my chest? Maybe the people around the fire went together to figure out who I was, and have sent a representative to talk. Or, to fight.

The person approaches, curses lightly beneath their breath, and takes a seat a few paces off, sighing. Not even glancing towards me.

Alright, so they aren’t here for me.

But what are they here for?